The Places You Have Come To Fear The Most
by electriccghosts
Summary: A plane crash leaves the New Directions choir stranded on a deserted island. Afraid and unsure of what tomorrow holds, the group must band together to survive.
1. Chapter 1

"London is one of _the_ international cities of fashion! Vivienna Westwood, Galliano, Stella McCartney, Manolo Blahnik, Jimmy Choo— they all started in London!"

Kurt clapped his hands for emphasis as he intensely stared at his boyfriend, who in return, just smiled.

"You've told me this a thousand times, sweetheart," Blaine said.

"I just want to make sure you remember."

The plane was full of these bubbling conversations as McKinley High's glee club, New Directions, was on their way to London to take part of a worldwide singing program showcasing musical styles from over a thirty different countries. It was going to be their last hurrah before some of the members graduate and follow different routes.

A slight shake causes the conversations to fall silent. Ding. The "Fasten Seatbelt" signs lights up. It is followed by a woman flight attendant's steady voice.

"Ladies and gentleman, the pilot has turned on the fasten seatbelts sign- please return to your seats with your seatbelts fastened."

The plane shakes again. Then it happens. Within seconds the plane begins to drop. Screams bounce off the plane's sides. Loose objects were flung around as everyone clambered to grab the oxygen masks. Hands fumbled with the masks between screams and deep breaths. Puff. Puff.

Frantic, garbled radio noises nearly drown out the screams of the passengers. The plane seems to have been falling for years, though it had only been a few seconds. It plummets for another millisecond before hitting the beach of a deserted island. It explodes into a horrific mirage of vibrant shades of reds and oranges.

It was a warzone. Fires were scattered along the previously untouched beach, weaving in and out of a massive amount of wreckage. The plane itself was split in half. One half was plowed into the sand, a wing sticking straight up, towering nearly ten stories into the sky. The other half jetted out from the water. Sporadic sparks burst from the plane's engine, showering down on the disaster zone on the beach.

The sand was cluttered with bodies. The grains clumped together with blood. Only a few people were up and moving about, trying to help whoever they could spot. There seemed to be more screams and cries than bodies. The engine was still revving, creating a deadly sound that drowned out the helpless cries of the people.

Kurt, who had just been talking of the fabulous fashion in London, now lay on the sand, unconscious. Blaine was covered in blood and hovering over his unconscious boyfriend's body. He cried frantically, trying to bring the life back into his lover's eyes.

Artie was conscious but immobile, stuck in the sand between a flaming hunk of the plane.

Puck pushed himself off the hot ground and lunged in the direction of his disabled friend. He latched his arms around Artie's chest and struggled to pull him away from the unstable fire.

Farther down on the beach, Mike sat between his girlfriend Tina, and his friend, Mercedes. Tina was without a pulse. Mike checked her wrist a dozen times, his heart pounding. He still couldn't find any sign that she was alive. He quickly turned to check on Mercedes, who was bleeding from the head and had a piece of shrapnel lodged into her side. Feeling helpless, Mike lowered his head to the ground and began to weep.

Rachel and Quinn huddled together a few feet away from the steaming engine of the plane. They stood for a brief second before Rachel laid eyes on Blaine trying to rouse Kurt. Quinn stood, paralyzed in fear.

Santana tried breathing life back into Brittany, but the blonde was not moving. Finn tried to nudge Santana out of the way, but she struggled against him. It took a few seconds before she finally caved, collapsing against Brittany's side in tears. Finn, who had taken a single CPR lesson his freshman year of high school, tried to revive the young girl.

Will stood in disbelief, surveying the damage around him. Other than his kids, he saw no survivors. He did see a number of nameless bodies, spread around haphazardly. He didn't know what to do. It was all fake. He was having a nightmare on the plane- flights always did that to him. But the rotting smell of flesh told him this was real life. In a moment of clarity, he rushed off to visit each cluster of struggling kids.

The scene around the crash was beautiful, tainted by the ugly crash. The ocean was spectacular with violet waves crashing on the beach against the plane. The beach gradated into jungle greens with thousand foot high peaks of mountains.

Terror. Smoke. Fumes.

Quinn still stood near the engine that grew louder with each passing second. Will rushed over to his student and lifted her up off the ground and tossing her over his shoulder. He pushed against the sand for a few dozen feet, letting the girl off next to Santana. Just then, he spotted Rachel frantically waving in his direction. He began to run in the direction he just came from, past the engine.

The engine, which had been increasingly in intensity, revved full blast. Will got sucked into the engine, hitting the blades with a sharp, sickening sound. The engine explodes, rocking the island, sending more pieces of fiery debris across the site.

The conscious members of the choir were in a state of disgusted shock. The man that had brought them all together was gone. Just like that. The men, who had been trying to appear stable for their female friends, could no longer hold in their fear. They were without a leader.

Finn clambered over to his girlfriend, his step-brother, and his step-brother's boyfriend. Blaine was still frantically trying to breathe life back into his boyfriend.

"Stop!" Finn rushed. "You need to tilt his head farther back. You're just blowing air right now."

Blaine was desperate to bring Kurt back, so he followed Finn's instructions.

"Breath, breath, pump, pump, pump," Finn said, coaching Blaine through it.

Through the commotion, it was hard to hear the metallic whine of the plane wing. The massive wing was bending at a crack. Teetering back and forth, it was just about to crash down on the sand. It was just about to crash down on the sand where Puck sat with Artie.

Rachel, who was sitting in a heap, heard the sound. She looked in the direction of the screech and saw the unknowing two on the ground. She lifts herself off the ground and stumbles in their direction as the wing sprays fuel. It cracks a little more, swaying against the wind.

"Puck!" She screams. "Puck! Move! Move! Get Artie out of there! The wing is falling!"

Confused, Puck looks up. He struggles to move his helpless friend. He lets out a throaty bellow as the wing starts to fall. Rachel nearly collides with the two. She takes hold of one side of Artie and helps Puck pull him away from the tipping wing.

Kurt gasps for breath. He is unaware of what is happening around him, horrified and disoriented.

The wing smashes to the ground. It lands on an already smoking piece of debris. In a hollow ka-boom! the wind explodes. It is an enormous blast, sending pieces of fiery metal everywhere.

Mike works through the explosion. The love of his life is gone, but he refuses to let himself think about it. He had to help save his friends. He thanked his father for making him take summer medical classes. He looks at the piece of shrapnel in Mercedes side. It was a dirty mess. He couldn't remove the metal- it was possibly holding her stomach together. Her head wound was bad, too. There was nothing he could do for her. He stood up and looked around.

Artie, Puck, and Rachel sat off to the distance in a silent sort of stupor. Kurt and Blaine cuddled together, comforting one another. Brittany, with the help of Finn, was now sitting upright next to Santana. Finn was helping Quinn over to Rachel. And Mike stood between his dead girlfriend and dying friend.

For the first time that afternoon, there was a settling calm over the island. The screams had stopped, the engine was gone, and the crying was soft and contained. There were still a few fires raging across the beach, but they were of no major threat.

Everyone gravitates together. They sit in a misshapen circle, all in a state of disbelief. After a while, Finn and Puck share soft words and stand up. They walked to the edge of the green brush of the forest.

"Where are Tina and Mercedes?" Brittany says, finally breaking the silence.

Mike, who had been staring at the sand, looked up, "Tina is dead. Mercedes is as good as dead."

Quinn whimpered a cry, but it is covered by Santana's voice,

"What do you mean, as good as dead?"

"She has a concussion and a dirt piece of metal stuck in her side," He snapped. "There isn't anything any of us can do to help her."

Finn and Puck arrived back with armfuls of wood. They silently dropped it, and then walked in the direction of the plane. Mike gave the group a hard stare before hopping to his feet and following the boys.

Kurt, Blaine, and Brittany decided to separate Tina and Mercedes. They moved Tina's limp body far away from Mercedes and their declared camp. After a few words, they decided to move the rest of the bodies to the area. Quinn joined in their help.

Puck tottered back with a torn business class chair. He wedged it into the sand and then lifted Artie off the ground and nestled him into it.

Santana followed Puck back to the plane wreckage. They were scavenging for something- anything. Rachel was quiet next to Artie.

Hours passed. The day faded. Rachel created a bonfire with the material Puck and Finn brought back from the edge of the woods.

There was a lot left to sort in the plane, but when the fire began to roar, the group called it a quit. They had managed to find some packaged airway food and drinks. It would have to last them for now. Tomorrow they'd resume their search.

Spread out across the beach was the survivors of the crash huddled around the fire. They were a scared group of teenagers without any idea what tomorrow held. All they knew is that if they were going to survive, they needed to stick together.


	2. Chapter 2

The night was full of tears, muffled cries, and restless bodies. No one stepped forward to become the appointed leader of the wayward group. They were all too busy consoling one another, huddled in tight bundles underneath scavenged flight blankets. The island was surprisingly cold, a drastic difference from the morning.

There was a wave of primal instincts in the middle of the night. The men experienced a shift. They needed to protect their women, their loved ones. It extended just past romantic interests. They needed to protect their wounded, their beaten, and their sick. They needed to protect their family.

As the sun crept over the ocean in a magnificent painting, Puck wiggled away from Quinn, who was tucked into the curve of his body. A few feet to his left lay Artie, reclined in his airline chair. Puck adjusted the boy's blanket and started walking in the direction of the plane. He would be the first to admit he wasn't the brightest, but he'd be damned if he just gave up.

There was a rustling behind him that alerted him to a stop. Mike came up behind him.

"Have you guys found any sort of medication?" Mike asked.

Puck shook his head, "I wish."

"Mercedes," Mike trailed off. "Last night before I went to sleep, I checked on her. She is still unconscious, and her side isn't looking too good."

Puck nodded in the direction of the sort of make shift medical area Kurt had set up, "Let's go check on her."

They walked in a uniform silent, padding in the sand. As they approached Mercedes, Puck muttered,

"I'm really sorry about Tina."

"Thanks," Mike said shortly with a snap. He softened, realizing his tone. "I'm just… trying not to think about it."

"I understand, man," Puck nodded.

They stopped in front of Mercedes. Mike dropped to his knees to examine the body, and Puck mocked his actions. He watched as Mike peeled back the blanket to examine the wound.

It wasn't good. Her ebony skin had taken on a mustardy yellow tone.

"Shit," Puck said. "That doesn't look good."

"No, it's fantastic," Mike said sarcastically.

Puck ignored him, "Is there anything you can do?"

"I can take the shrapnel out."

"Didn't you say last night that removing it would cause her stomach to jumble up or something?"

"I was hoping we'd be at a hospital or something by now. She is going to die if I leave it in. If I take it out, I may be able to control it," He hesitated before adding. "I haven't done anything like this on a person. I read about it for those classes my dad made me take."

"It's worth the risk," Puck said after a long beat.

"If I open her up, I should be able to stop the bleeding. It will all be okay if she doesn't go into shock. Maybe if we can find antibiotics somewhere…"

Finn was approaching the two. He tried to keep his eyes off of Mercedes. He shifted in the sand as he spoke,

"What are you guys doing?"

Lighting up with an idea, Mike said, "I need you two to look for the luggage. All of it. I know we found some last night… but I need everything to be searched. I need you to look through the bags for prescription drugs. Shaving kits! I need shaving kits too. Bring me back everything you find."

"What are you talking about?" Finn asked, confused.

Puck rose, "Come on, man."

Mike spent hours pacing, trying to remember all of his past medical classes. He thanked his father between breaths for making him go to the seminars and lectures, for pushing him to take the notes and read the books. Those lessons would not only save his lives, but his friends lives. He was the only one with any sort of extensive background in medicine. Though he hadn't actually operated on a person, he knew the logistics of it. That would have to be enough.

The rest of the group stirred awake. They had rationed the portions of the cold trays of airline food they found, but no one wanted to eat. They busied themselves to keep their minds off of what was happening around them.

Kurt began to make makeshift huts out of deflated life rafts, vines, sticks, leaves, and whatever else he could get his hands on. He wasn't the manliest one in the pack. He couldn't lift rubble or hunt. He knew fashion. He knew how to create things. It was his best skill, and he was going to have to put it to use somehow. He enlisted the help of Blaine, Rachel, and Quinn. Kurt laid out an intricate plan for the huts, sending out his group to begin the work.

Santana pooled rocks from the water and the wooded area. They varied in size. She started laying them out a few feet away from the main wreckage of the plane. From the ground, it looked like a crazy mess. But airborne, you'd be able to see it was a large display of stone spelling out "HELP".

Brittany kept Artie company. She knew he was feeling useless, so she tried to get his mind off of things. They talked about the water and how nice it would feel to be back home in their own beds. They talked about songs they wanted to perform, and how help was on the way.

Back by Mercedes, Mike was busy going over procedures in his head when Puck and Finn returned with a piece of luggage. They dropped it in front of him. Mike looked up, and then unzipped the bag.

Inside there were a few prescription bottles, a lighter, scissors, a sewing kit, a few shaving kits, a bucket, and a t-shirt. They had done a good job of completing Mike's task.

"We figured you'd need water to clean… stuff," Puck said, reaching for the tub. He disappeared, dipping down by the coastline.

Mike examined the bottles, lying them out in a row on the sand. He emptied the sewing kit on the ground. Searching through the shaving kits, he found a straight razor. He placed it next to the scissors. He started ripping the t-shirt into strips.

"Are you sure she's out?" Finn questioned. "She isn't going wake up when you pull that out?"

Mike didn't look up. He didn't say anything. He kept ripping the shirt.

"You know what you're doing, right?"

Irritated, Mike snapped, "I know more than you do, Finn."

Puck returned with the sloshing tub of seawater. He sat it down net to Mike's utensils. Sensing the tension, he tried to break the ice.

"She's knocked out, right?"

Instead of making the situation better, he made it worse. Mike took a deep breath and kept his cool.

"The pain might bring her back. If she does wake up, I'm going to need you two to hold her down."

Finn and Puck exchange a worried look. Mike doesn't pay attention. He takes a few deep breaths, reassuring himself that he knew what he was doing. He grabbed the lighter and heats the blade of the straight razor. He sat both things down then calmly placed both hands on the shrapnel.

There was a tense moment. This was really happening.

Then Mike yanks the shrapnel out of Mercedes belly. The wound bleeds right away. Mike tries his best to figure out the damage. Puck is doing a decent job of holding the body, but Finn is a shaky mess.

"Hand me some of those strips," Mike demands.

In a split second decision, Mike sticks his hand inside the wound. Both Puck and Finn are shocked at what is happening.

"Dude," Finn said in awe.

"Just hand me the strips!" Mike demanded.

"Hey!" It was an outside voice- Santana. She was running over. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Get back," Mike belted. "Just get back! Finn, I need those goddamn strips!"

"Santana, just go away," Puck said, trying to keep his cool. "Go make sure no one else comes over here."

Strong headed, Santana was unwilling to listen to their orders. But the sight was making her sick to her stomach. She tripped over her stomach retreating back to the main site where everyone was focused, staring at the somewhat hidden scene taking place a few hundred feet away.

"I can't do this," Finn panic.

Mike tries to stay calm, "I need to get this blood… oh…"

"What?" Finn said, franticly. "What is wrong?"

"I need the strips! Just hand me the strips!"

Finn could not focus. He was looking hard at the open wound, his eyes glazed over.

"Finn!" Mike yelled, noticing Finn's appearance.

Finn crumpled, hitting the ground like a bag of bricks. He was out cold. Puck looked helplessly between Finn and Mike. He struggled to reach for the strips, passing them to Mike.

Mike was up to his elbow in blood. He was moving on autopilot. He used the strips Puck supplied to soak up the blood. He frantically tried sewing up whatever was torn inside Mercedes.

A gasping- wheezing noise. Mike froze. It was his worst nightmare. Mercedes was awake. Her face contorted in pain as she gained consciousness. Puck struggled to hold her down. Mike tried not to let her deter him from his task.

"Come on, Mercedes!" Puck fought.

"I-I," She gasped.

"Stop moving!" Mike yelled as he lost his focus.

It was too late. Mercedes went limp. She did not struggle against Puck any longer. Puck and Mike shared a look of disbelief.

Back at the huts, there was an eruption of noise. Screams as they see Mercedes fall soft.

Mike fought to keep his tears back. He had just killed a person. He tried to save her, and he killed her. There was no way he would be able to help anyone else.

For some sort of sick conformation, he leaned forward and put his bloody hand on her wrist. There was a soft, slow pulse. Mike's face lit up.

"She's alive!" He yelled. "She's alive!"

He grabbed the needled and dove back in. He had almost patched up the source when Mercedes jolted awake, pulling out some of the stitches. He needed to be faster this time. He began to fix the stitches that had come loose. Puck sat with a strong grip on Mercedes in case she gained consciousness again.

Mike successfully sewed her insides up. He let himself experience a moment of happiness as he stared at her body. But then he realized he had to close the wound. He began to stitch the large wound together when he felt Mercedes shift below him.

She was not fighting like before, though Puck was ready. She drifted in and out of consciousness. Her eyes flickered and she muttered incoherent phrases.

Mike ignored her. If he lost focus, he would mess up like the last time. It was Puck who tried to steady Mercedes.

"Mercedes, you've got to calm down. If you move, Mike is going to have to open you back up. Come on."

Mercedes couldn't comprehend what was happening, but she tried to not move. Her eyes continued to flicker as Mike doubled up on the stitching. He reached the last centimeter of her abdomen that needed stitched. He finished. He tied the thread off and set the needled on the blood soaked sand.

He let out a sigh, exhausted.

"Holy shit," Puck said after a second.

Mike was still in his surgery mode. He reached up and felt her forehead. Her fever was raging. It was hotter than he'd ever felt before. But at least she had a pulse.

"She's going to need those antibiotics," He reached over and grabbed a bottle, tossing it to Puck. "Give her two of these and try to wake Finn up. Then stay here with her in case she wakes up."

Puck was obedient. He was the soldier to Mike's general. He defiantly felt like Mike was a hero as the blood soaked man rose to his feet and exhaustedly walked to the anxious group by the makeshift huts.

As Mike walked back, he thought of what his life would be like if… when…. they got off the island. He fought his dad over become a dancer, but the past hour proved to him that he was a surgeon. He'd never felt what he felt when he saved Mercedes before in his life. It was a rush.


	3. Chapter 3

"You almost killed her," Santana sneered.

"He saved her life," Puck defended.

"She is yellow," Brittany stated, as if it was a common occurrence.

Mike, who was staring off into nothing, looked over at the bickering group.

"Her wound is infected," He said. "The antibiotics will help fight of the infection."

"And if they don't? What if you gave her the wrong stuff?"

"What do you care, anyway?" Quinn shot. "You're a bitch to her."

Mike stood and exclaimed, "Enough! I know what I'm doing."

"Come on, guys," Blaine, who had been quiet for an entire day, said, "We can't fight."

For a few seconds, everyone took in Blaine's words. He sounded like he was talking to a group of children. That's how they were acting. For the first time since the crash, they were fighting. A bunch of bickering children couldn't survive for long. So if they wanted to get off the island alive, which they did, they were going to have to act like adults. They were scared kids who were going to have to try to act like adults.

"We went through the plane wreckage three times. I'm pretty sure we've got all of the luggage that survived," Finn proposed. "We need to go through it all and pool what we have."

There was a silent wave of agreement. They broke apart, walking over to the large pile of luggage. The luggage was next to their small pile of airline food. The blankets they had found were folded outside the makeshift huts.

Mike followed, hoping to create a medical kit. Some of the group still had wounds. He wanted to fix them soon to avoid further infection.

"Hey, Mike."

It was Kurt. Like Blaine, Kurt had been quiet since the crash. Mike gave his friend a weak smile.

"Yeah?"

"They aren't coming," Kurt stated. "We're stranded."

"Come on, man," Mike said. "You have to keep hope."

"It's been a day. They aren't coming."

Kurt walked off to salvage clothes, books- anything he could find, leaving Mike to wrestle with his words. Mike didn't want to think about it. Of course, the thought was in the back of his head. He couldn't hold on to the feelings for long. If he was going to survive, he was going to have to give it his all.

They separated the things they found in their luggage. Rachel decided it'd be best to make piles; electronics, textual, clothing, medical/hygiene (though Mike already had a considerably large medical stockpile going), and other.

The electronic pile: A few iPods containing a wide variety of music, a camera, and a busted watch.

Clothing: Some sunglasses, a few pair of boots, sneakers, sandals, and a massive amount of clothes of every size and style.

Hygiene/Medical: Three bottles of sunscreen, toilet paper, an inhaler, some tampons, Q-Tips, Band-Aids, some soaps and shampoos.

Other: Lighters, a few flashlights, a Swiss Army knife, some miscellaneous bottles, Ziploc bags, a deck of cards, a fanny pack, a sleeping mask, and a large roll of tape.

Mike took the liberty of adding the Band-Aids and inhaler to his pack of medical equipment. It already held some leftover strips of the t-shirt, the sewing kit, the straight razor, and medicine ranging from antibiotics to Aspirin to.

As they were moving the piles, there was a pained moan coming from the spot where Mercedes' body lay. Mike grabbed his medical pack and rushed over. After an hour or so, Puck had left her alone, getting bored sitting idly. Mike didn't think much about it at the time, but now that she was violently coughing and starting to stir, he thought maybe it wasn't such a good idea.

"Mercedes!" He flopped to the ground. "Stop moving!"

"It hurts," She wheezed.

Mike gave her a sympathetic look, "I know. I'm going to give you some more medicine, okay?"

He dug around his bag, searching for the antibiotics found in the wreckage. The medicine, Tetracycline, was used to cure urinary tract infections. It was a bacteria fighting antibiotic, but it wasn't nearly strong enough to help Mercedes. It was better than nothing, though.

He slipped the pill in her mouth and tipped some water in her mouth. She had already passed back out. Mike sighed and trekked back to the main set up.

"Hey, Kurt," Mike called out.

Kurt stopped fiddling with the broken watch and stood up. He walked over to Mike and gave a weak smile,

"Yeah?"

"Is there any way you can make a… tent… or shelter… or something for Mercedes? We can't just leave her exposed anymore."

"We don't have a lot of stuff left," Kurt thought. "But I could probably use parts from the plane. I'd have to get help lifting them, of course."

Mike patted Kurt's back, "Thank you."

Kurt scuttled off to grab some muscle. Mike walked over to where Quinn and Santana were begging to start the fire for the night. He set his medical pack down and flopped next to it.

"Do we have any food left?" He questioned.

"Not much," Artie said. "We have a few more meals- they might last us one more day or so."

"We're going to have to hunt," Mike stated.

"I'm not eating meat!" Rachel contributed flatly.

Santana shot her a nasty look, "Have fun starving."

"What about fish?" Artie asked. "There is a whole ocean of fish."

"Tina- Tina knows… knew how to cook fish," Mike said quietly.

The fighting stopped as everyone looked at him. They'd been pretending it never happened, just as he did. The same goes for Mr. Schue. They all saw him get sucked into the razor sharp blades, but none of them wanted to believe he was really gone.

"Maybe I'll eat meat," Rachel mumbled.

"Mike! Mike! Come here!"

A few hundred feet away, Blaine was waving his arms frantically. He was standing with Kurt, Puck, and Finn. They had a good start on a makeshift tent out of plane parts for Mercedes, but something seemed to be wrong.

Without blinking, Mike grabbed his medical bag and rushed over to Blaine. He dunked behind the plane wing and was greeted by a shock- Mercedes' abdomen was more yellow than it was before, and now it was beginning to speckle with tiny blisters.

"Shit," Mike breathed.

"She was fine when we started putting this stupid thing up," Puck panicked.

Mike rubbed his jaw, "The antibiotics aren't helping. The infection has spread. I think it may be in her bloodstream."

"That isn't good, is it?" Finn said grimly.

"It isn't good," Kurt stated.

Mike agreed, "I can give her more of the antibiotics, but chances are they won't help. She's experiencing septic shock."

"What does that mean?" Blaine asked, dunking into the small, blocked off space.

Mike hesitated for a second before saying, "Her organs are failing."

As much knowledge as Mike had retained, he had missed something important. Mercedes fever and chills was a red flag for sepsis, or the entire body becoming inflammatory. The extreme conditions and terms of the crash sent her into septic shock. Septic shock resulted in her organs failing. The infection was spreading rapidly, attacking her immune system.

Mercedes was going to die. Mike wasn't sure how long it would take, he tried to remember… anywhere from a few hours to a few days.

"She's going to die?" Puck asked.

"Oh my God," Kurt stifled, covering his mouth.

It wasn't Mike's fault entirely. He had tried to save her. She would have died if he didn't do anything. And now that he did do something, she was going to die. It was a lose-lose situation.

He stormed off, ashamed of himself. He ventured into the thick woods. Nobody in the group had explored the intimidating brush. Mike didn't care. He wanted to get away. He weaved through trees. He told himself he wanted to get lost, but knew if he did, his friends might not survive. Who knows, maybe they'd be better off without him.

Back at the camp, the rest of the group began to worry about Mike. It was starting to get dark. They didn't know what was out there. They couldn't risk going in after him. They just had to hope he'd come back.

Puck slowly removed himself from the fire. He grabbed a long sleeved shirt from the separated clothing piles and shoved it under his own shirt, just in case anyone saw him leaving. Sneakily, he wandered across the sand and dipped behind the plane parts he had set up hours earlier.

Mercedes was emitting small, pained moans. It was almost too much for Puck. No, it was too much for Puck. He wasn't going to let her suffer any more than she already had.

He kneeled in the sand next to her body and pulled the shirt out. He stared at it for a long second. He was struggling with himself, what he was about to do. Carefully, he bunched the shirt and placed it over Mercedes' face.

"I'm so sorry, Hot Mama," He whispered, his voice cracking. "I love you…"

Before he could change his mind, he stuffed the shirt into Mercedes' mouth. He placed his hand over the shirt to keep it down, and he pinched her nose to block the passageway. His tears flew freely.

Mercedes struggled for a few painful seconds, but her body was weak and tired. Her body went limp. She was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

It was the height of the night. The fire was dying down, and everyone had retreated to their respective life raft tents. Sleep was difficult but welcomed. They had waited well into the night for Mike to come back. By the time they all were sleeping, he was still gone.

Mike wasn't too far from the camp. He wandered in and out of trees until he heard a rushing noise. He walked closer to investigate. It was a waterfall. A waterfall! He wasn't good at judging sizes, but he figured it was maybe four hundred feet tall. The waterfall pooled in a bay that split into a few rivers.

Mike rushed over to the bay. He cupped his hands and brought the water to his lips. It was fresh. He thanked God. They were almost out of water at the camp, and without any sort of rain, they were going to dehydrate. This water source could potentially save their lives.

Mike wasn't sure exactly how to get back to camp, but he knew the general direction. One of the rivers was going in the direction he came from. He decided to gamble- take the risk. He started walking along the river.

He hoped it would take him back to the beach, but he hoped wrong. The river trailed off into nothing, leaving Mike unsure where he was. He decided to keep walking. As far as he knew, he was going the right direction.

After a little while of walking, the brush of the trees cleared out and Mike could see the beach. He rushed to the edge of the forest. When he burst through, he didn't see the make shift tents or the wrecked plane.

But he did see the fire.

A few football fields down the shoreline, Mike saw the dying fire. Everything else steadied into view- the plane, the tents, the stock piles. He ran towards it.

When he got back, he noticed everyone was sleeping. He wasn't sure exactly how long he had been gone. Not wanting to wake anyone, he lay near the smoldering fire. It would have to do. He was nearly asleep when a sound jolted him awake. Alert, he rose to his feet and listened. The sound was coming from the wrecked plane.

He stumbled over to the pile of miscellaneous objects and grabbed one of the flashlights. He approached the plane but kept his distance. Behind him, he heard everyone stirring.

So much for not waking them up.

"What is it?" Blaine exclaimed, appearing behind him. He followed Mike's eyes.

The group pooled around where Mike stood. They all stared at the fuselage. Inside, there were banging, dull thuds.

"Somebody's in there," Brittany said.

Finn, who had grabbed the other flashlight, stepped forward. He moved towards the opening of the wreckage.

"Finn?" Rachel exclaimed, stepping forward.

Mike follows Finn, adding his light to the beam. Rachel stomped behind Mike, determined to not let her boyfriend go in alone.

The three arrived at the opening and peered in. The banging was louder. It was apparent whatever that was in there didn't care that they knew it was there. Mike and Finn tried to collectively focus their lights on the noises. An inhuman grunt from inside stuns them for a brief second, but they pushed on their search.

The light steadied.

Something's head turned. It was feral. It was furious. And it snorted.

"Run!" Finn screamed.

His command was followed by a trail of shrieks. Finn, Rachel, and Mike barreled past the people who lingered, trying to push them away. Following the fleeing group came three small squealing beastlike bores. The bores split and ran in different paths.

Puck, still thrown off from what he had done a few hours later, grabbed a jagged piece of rummage to defend the girls on his side of the tents. Blaine reached for the hunting knife he had found earlier and hidden from the group and moved to stand in front of Kurt.

There weren't any of the creatures barreling in their direction, but one was heading towards Artie. Artie, who had been left alone and helpless on his chair.

"Stay here!" Blaine hissed at Kurt.

He ran in Artie's direction, the knife raised. In one swift move, Blaine threw the knife. It whizzed through the air. The sound the knife made when it hit the beast sent the other two running. The blow knocked the creature down, but it was still squealing. Blaire hurried over and retrieved the knife, then buried it a few more times in the fuzzy neck.

"What…" Puck trailed off, confused.

"Who are you?" Kurt breathed, his face scrunched as he looked at the bloody mess.

"You saved my life," Artie staggered.

Blaine let out a heavy sigh, "Lucky shot?"

"Where did you get that knife?" Finn questioned with a raised eyebrow.

"I found it in a bag. I didn't want to put it in the pile… just in case, you know?"

"And that?" Rachel asked with a frown as she pointed to the dead animal.

"When my dad was trying to get me to be more… manly… he took me hunting a few times. I picked up a few things, I guess."

"You obviously didn't pick up how to make a clean kill," Santana muttered.

Blaine shot her a nasty look, but said calmly, "We can eat this. Someone is going to have to… clear it out though."

"I volunteer Puck," Brittany said.

Puck frowned, "That's gross! No way."

"What about Mr. Medicine Man over there?" Santana seethed.

"I'll do it."

It was Artie. He looked up at the group from his airline chair.

"I'll do it," He repeated.

Finn fumbled over his words, "Artie, I uh, don't think that is possible."

"I have two hands. Just let me do something."

Blaine handed Artie the bloodied knife with an odd smile. Then, he picked Artie up and wiggled him a few feet over to the corpse of the boar.

Artie hesitated as he thrust the knife into the pig's abdomen. He drug it down the length of the belly.

"I can't watch this," Rachel said, covering her mouth with her hands. She turned and ran over to the water.

Finn followed her.

Artie had no idea what he was doing after he cut open the pig. Kurt handed him two of the Ziploc bags to place over his hands, for the innards… you know.

Artie questioned why he volunteered as he plunged his plastic baggy covered hands into the pig. He rummaged around the body cavity. Mike told him to try to feel around and make sure all the organs were severed, then to pull it all out at once.

"That knife isn't going to be able to cut the head off," Puck observed. He passed Artie the jagged piece of metal he was holding. "Try using this- like a hacksaw."

Though he wasn't doing it all completely on his own, having something to do made Artie feel like he was contributing. Up until that moment, he was a weak, helpless bag of nothing. And even though it was strenuous and difficult, he pressed on.

Everyone pooled their knowledge from TV, movies, and books on how to properly dismember and cook the animal.

Artie began to remove the hide with a knife, going in long vertical strips. Mike made sure to point out that he should be careful to not go too deep and cut the muscle. He removed the tissue around the multiple stab wounds Blaine inflicted. Puck filled one of the empty containers they had with water from the ocean, and cleaned the carcass once Artie was done fixing it up.

Brittany and Quinn fed the fire. Nobody knew how long the meat was good for. They were all starving, so they decided to cook it now. It would take a few hours, but if they slept in shifts, it would be ready by morning.

Noticing that Artie was tired, Puck caved and offered to cut the meat into strips for the fire.

"I found a waterfall," Mike brought up. "There is a bay maybe an hour back. There are streams or something. One of them trails off and leads you basically back to the beach."

"Why didn't you say something sooner?" Kurt asked.

Mike shrugged, "I prioritized."

A vicious scream came from the direction of the makeshift infirmary. Mike looked at the group around the fire, ordering them to stay put, then ran in the direction of the scream's source. He dunked into the small hut. Rachel was lying over Mercedes' body, weeping. Finn stood a few feet away with his arms crossed.

"She's dead, man," He mumbled with a frown.

"What?" Mike's eyebrows shot up. "She should've had at least another two days."

Rachel sobbed, "We have to bury her. We have to bury all of them! I can't stand this."

"It's okay, Rach," Finn tried. "We'll bury them. Don't worry."

Mike was the grim reaper of the conversation. As much as he didn't want to say it, he had to.

"We can't dig without shovels. We have to… burn them."

"They're people!" Rachel said, horrified.

"I know they're people-"

"They deserve better than that," Finn cut off.

"Than what?" Mike defended. "Getting eaten by animals? Cause that's what will happen. If we bury them, they won't stay buried for long. Do you think I want to burn the body of the woman I wanted to marry? No! But she's gone… and in order for us to stay here, and stay here alive, we need to get rid of those damn bodies."

There was a moment of registration on Rachel and Finn's face.

"In the morning, we need to start collecting wood. I know we have a decent pile now, but we need more. And dried brush. Anything flammable we can use."

"What are you going to do? Just toss them into a fire?"

Mike shook his head, "The bodies… or most of them… are already in the fuselage. We are going it on fire. Maybe then somebody will see us."


	5. Chapter 5

"I'm not eating that."

Rachel sat with a disgusted look on her face. She crossed her arms.

Finn held a piece of the cooked boar meat in front of her. He dangled it in a tantalizing way.

"You're going to starve," He said.

"I'm not going to starve."

"What are you going to eat?"

Rachel waved her arm over to the crashing waves, "The ocean is full of fish, if you haven't noticed."

"You have no idea how to fish."

Puck tried to end their bickering, "Look- my grandpa used to take me fishing. He taught me like everything he knew. It's a little known fact that other than a lady killer, I'm a fish killer."

Everyone smiled. Even stranded on an island, Puck managed to make jokes.

"I mean, we don't have a fishing pole," Puck continued.

"If you're such a fish killer, you'll think of something," Artie smiled.

"Come on," Finn said to everyone. "Our killer will think of something."

Puck flinched at Finn's words. He knew he didn't mean it literally. He didn't know that Puck was the one that killed Mercedes. Hell, everyone still thought that she died naturally.

Quinn brought him out of his thoughts, "You okay?"

"Yeah."

"I think I know how we can catch some fish," She smiled.

Puck raised an eyebrow, intrigued. He watched as Quinn walked over to the pile of sticks they had created. She rummaged around for a few seconds before pulling out a long, skinny one. She tossed it in the air a few times before smiling, gratefully. She moved on to the next pile, the clothing. She pulled a shoe lace off of one of the boots. She grabbed the duct tape and plopped back down next to Puck.

"Hand me that piece of metal over there."

Puck did as he was told. He carefully gave the sliver to Quinn and watched in amazement as she fiddled together a crafty piece of weaponry.

Quinn used the jagged metal to cut a small notch at the top of the stick. Then, she flipped the piece of metal around and wedged it into the newly made notch. She used the shoelace to secure the shard. She wrapped a few layers of tape around the spot where the shard and the stick connected.

"Voilà!" She grinned.

Puck rubbed his jaw, "You're full of surprises."

The water was beautiful. It was tranquil. The reef bed was full of fish swimming among the coral. Puck and Quinn stood in the water with their pants rolled up to their knees. Puck had taken control of the spear.

He clumsily stabbed it into the water. Once. Twice.

"I thought you knew how to catch fish," Quinn complained.

"I do," Puck exclaimed. "I can fish with a fishing pole. I can fish with bait. I've never had to poke one."

He continued to stab the water. He was frustrated. He hit the water with the stick a few times before swearing,

"Damn!"

"Let me try," Quinn offered.

"I can do it myself."

"Come on, Puck. I won't tell anyone if you don't."

Puck stopped pounding the ocean. With a huff, he handed Quinn the spear.

"Fine. Knock yourself out, babe!"

Quinn readied herself. Her eyes scanned the water with the spear raised.

Puck spotted a fish, "Here's one! Put your weight into it. Easy… easy… wait for it… wait… Now! NOW!"

Quinn stabbed hard. She slipped, falling headfirst into the water. She flailed for a moment before awkwardly positioning herself.

"You were supposed to pin it-"

"You told me to put my weight into it," Quinn said, frustrated, as she stood up.

Puck began to say something, but she quickly shut him up by raising a hand. She had her eye on a fish. In a swift motion, she tossed the spear into the water. She expected to hit the reef bottom as she had last time. But instead, she felt the metal sink into the fish.

With a grin, she raised the spear. A large fish weighed on the end. Puck's mouth dropped slightly as he stared at it. Quinn passed the stick over to him.

"I told you I wouldn't tell if you didn't," She said with a weak smile.

She began to walk away, treading through the water with her soaked clothes.

"Hey, Quinn," Puck said softly.

She looked over her shoulder, "Yeah?"

"Beth-"

"Stop," She intervened.

"Hey!" Kurt called out.

Puck and Quinn looked over to the beach.

Kurt continued, "The fuselage thing is ready to go."

It was getting dark. The fiery embers rose, dancing in the night sky. The fuselage burned beautifully. It was a somber moment.

The survivors of the crash all thought of the people they'd lost. Tina- with her stunning personality and such love for everyone around her. Mercedes- a beautiful voice that transcend all Earthly realms. Mr. Schue- their leader, their mentor, their friend and confidant. They thought of all the people they didn't know that had died. Who were they? What color were their eyes? Did they like country music? Did they have a family?

All they knew is that if they didn't get rescued soon, they'd have a chance to find out about these mystery people. Mike could kiss Tina. Puck could see his grandpa. Finn could see his dad, and Kurt could see his mom.

And as much as they wanted to hold their loved ones, they knew they'd have to survive for the people that loved them. They had to survive for the people that were looking for them.


	6. Chapter 6

"Are we almost there?" Santana huffed as she trailed behind Mike.

"Should be, yeah," He replied.

Mike enlisted the help of Santana and Puck to go to the bay area around the waterfall to collect fresh water. They had bags full of empty containers to fill with the water.

Puck, who was right behind Mike questioned, "How did you find this place, man?"

"I was just walking. I don't know."

The roar of the waterfall was in their ears. It wasn't long until they reached the bay. It was a picturesque destination. Under any other circumstance, it would have made for a beautiful vacation spot. The water sparkled under the sun. The lush forest surrounded the bay area.

"Wow," Puck muttered.

Santana dropped her bag and ran towards the water. She dropped to her knees and cupped her hands in the glimmering water, bringing it to her mouth. She slurped the content down and then let out a squeal.

"It tastes so good!"

"That isn't the first time she's said that to me," Puck grinned, nudging Mike slightly.

Mike rolled his eyes, "Sure. Come on- we've got to fill these up and get back. I'm sure everyone is thirsty."

"Don't be a party pooper, Chang. Let us enjoy this place," Santana said as she stood.

"Yeah," Puck agreed. He took a few steps towards the base of the pooling water.

Mike was ready to agree. He needed a break after the long walk through the dense thick of the forest. Just as the words were about to slip off his tongue, he noticed something.

"Puck- don't move."

"What?" Puck questioned, his eyebrows bushing together.

"You are standing on a beehive," Mike said slowly.

Santana perked up, rising to her feet and hurrying over.

Puck was standing on a beehive alright. It was massive, covering a large chunk of the ground.

"Beehives are supposed to be in trees," Puck panicked.

"What do we do?" Santana asked.

Mike was clueless, "I have no idea. If he moves, it will break."

The hive was already splitting. A trickle of bees emerged from the strange ground hive. One landed on Puck's exposed arm.

"I don't like bees," He rushed. "Not even don't like- like, I'm talking irrational fear. I'm pretty sure I'm allergic to bees. I don't-"

"Shut up," Santana hissed.

Puck's face was stricken with fear as more bees danced out of the hive and onto his body. They buzzed around him, as if taunting him. Saying, come on, man, move already.

"If you don't pull yourself together, I'll tell everyone you started crying," Santana tried.

"Irrational fear doesn't mean I can pull myself together," Puck whimpered.

"Just give me a second to think," Mike said, brushing a hand through his hair.

Just then, a bee landed on Puck's neck. It stung him.

"Ow!" Puck screeched. "Son of a bitch!"

His body shaking with pain, Puck stomped on the beehive. A dense cloud of bees erupted from the earth. The buzz was an eerie song. There were thousands of bees. It was a nightmare.

Puck panicked. He batted the air, a primitive roar coming out of his mouth. He collected sting after sting as he backed himself into a rock.

Mike and Santana both had no idea what to do. Santana turned and started running towards the water. Mike wanted to follow directly after her, but he couldn't leave Puck. With a grimace, he reached into the haze of bees and grabbed Puck's arm. The two stumbled as they tried to follow Santana.

Santana stripped her clothing off as she came towards the water. Mike tried to encourage Puck to remove his bee infested clothing.

They dove into the water behind Santana, who was swimming to the gushing waterfall. She disappeared under the stream. Mike hesitated for a second before pulling Puck into the water and ordering him to follow him.

The waterfall beat down on them with a tremendous force. It pushed the two down deep into the depths of the bay. When they emerged on the other side, they gasped for air.

"I'm over here!"

The water tapered off into wading length. Santana was sitting on a large rock a few feet back from where the water ended.

"Are you guys okay?" She questioned.

"A few stings," Mike said.

"Same," She nodded.

"Well, I was only stung like, several hundred times," Puck said grimly.

"I'll give you something when we get back to the camp," Mike said. "You should be okay for now."

"Yeah. Sure. That was only the biggest disaster ever."

"Suck it up," Santana sighed.

"Did you notice that you're missing a shirt," Puck said, changing the subject.

"It was full of bees."

"I'd have thought "C's"," He said with a smile.

Mike couldn't help but chuckle. Even under the most extreme circumstances, Puck managed to keep his usual demeanor.

"You are such an asshole," Santana smiled.

"We should stay in here for a few more minutes to make sure the bees are gone," Mike said. "But we need to get back to the beach soon. Quinn looked like she was about to die of thirst when we left."

"Lugging water back is going to be such a pain," Puck complained, though it was premature.

"I almost regret agreeing to help," Santana mumbled.

Mike wasn't going to disagree. They were going to have a little less than four gallons of water to carry back. Four gallons wasn't too heavy, but walking five miles back to the beach with four gallons of water was going to be a burden.

"There are only ten of us. This water should last us a few days," He finally said, trying to bring some positivity to the situation.

Santana rose, "We'll be off this stupid island in a few days. Come on. The bees are probably gone."

"Probably doesn't cut it," Puck crossed his arms. "I don't want to get stung anymore."

"That's it! I'm defiantly telling everyone you cried," Santana decided.

Puck twitched in protest, but before he could say anything, Santana had dove underneath the waterfall. Mike gave Puck a shrug before following. Puck trailed after, not wanting to be left alone. Once he popped up on the other side, he immediately began talking,

"Come on, Santana! I didn't cry."

Santana, a fast swimmer, was already at the edge of the bay. She was scooping water into the containers.

"I think I saw you crying," She said. "What did you see, Mike?"

"Don't drag me into this."

"Two against one," Puck grinned.

Santana rolled her eyes and tossed him an empty container. They filled the rest of the containers with water and tossed them in their bags. On the walk back to the beach, there was silence. Every now and then Puck would say something to Santana about not telling anyone any lies about what happened. She was more annoyed with the stupid prank and agreed to keep her mouth shut.

When they got back to the beach they expected to be greeted with open arms and dried lips. Instead, they saw a sullen group. A group that was missing one person.

"Where is she?" Santana rushed. She dropped the water on the ground. "Where is Brittany?"

"Santana," Finn started. "I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry about?" Her voice cracked. "Brittany!"

Puck and Mike gently laid their bags next to Santana's. They were just as confused as she was. The beach reeked of dread.

"She went into the water to swim. She just got… she went too far and the current pulled her under. I tried to save her."

"You're lying!" She screamed. "You are a lying bastard! Where is she? Come on! Just tell me. Please. Just tell me."

"I'm sorry," Rachel offered.

Santana's face was torn with pain. She had tried to keep her tears back, but they were flowing freely. She stumbled over her feet as she ran to the edge of the beach. The same water that had just taken the love of her life was a soothing call against her ankles.

"**BRITTANY!"** She screamed at the top of her lungs.

She repeated the name a few times before falling to her knees. Her fists pounded the wet sand leaving imprints that were washed away seconds later.

"What happened?" Mike asked softly.

"It was really hot. She just wanted to swim," Finn frowned.

"And you tried saving her?"

"Of course I did!" Finn defended himself.

Santana's cries were louder. They eliminated any chance of carrying on with any other activity. No one knew what to do. There was no way to console her. All they could do was sit and watch as she self-destructed.


	7. Chapter 7

Santana did not move from the water's edge for an entire day. Even when the tide crept up at her ankles she stayed, staring out at the ocean. If Brittany was gone, she wanted to be gone too. How could someone as wonderful as her be taken by something so nasty?

Not hunger nor fatigue nor fear could get her to leave her spot. Everyone had tried to get her to move, but she just kept her gaze on the water.

Blaine approached her slowly, as if she was a lioness.

For the first time since she heard the news of Brittany dying, she spoke. It was a harsh mutter.

"I swear to God, if one more person asks me if I want to talk about my feelings, I'm going to rip their head off."

"Artie told me to give you this," Blaine said softly. He passed her a piece of folded up piece of paper and disappeared back to the fire to sit with Quinn and Kurt.

Santana was hesitant, but unfolded the paper. It was a wrinkly display of a stick figure Santana and Brittany siting at a place that was obviously meant to be Breadsticks, their hands tangled together There were tiny hearts surrounding the original drawing. The bottom of the page said, in Brittany's handwriting, _"With my favorite person at our favorite place XoXo"_

For a brief second, Santana wanted to burst into tears. Instead, she neatly folded the piece of paper and tucked it into her bra for safe keeping. She slowly stood up bringing the camp to a complete silence. She had expected to storm over to Artie in a rage, but her demeanor was calm as she approached him.

"What do you think you're doing?" She asked.

Artie raised an eyebrow, "She made it yesterday. I thought you'd like it."

"You thought wrong," She said through gritted teeth.

As she walked away Artie called out,

"You aren't the only one who loved her, you know."

Santana whipped back around with an accusing finger, "I don't want to hear it, Wheels. Just let me have this moment."

"No," Artie argued.

"What did you say?" Santana was stunned at his disobedience.

"No."

Mike quickly cut in, "Come on, guys. It's a hard time for all of us. Just drop it."

"I'm not dropping it, Mike. You may have gotten over Tina in two seconds-"

"Don't you dare," Mike warned, his face quivering.

"Doesn't mean the rest of us can't grieve-"

"I said, don't go there!" Mike snapped.

"When one of our-"

"ENOUGH!" Mike bellowed.

He raised his hand with all the intent of slapping the girl. She had no place to tell him he wasn't grieving. Tina was on his mind every second of every minute. It was only through her strength that he was surviving on the god forsaken island. Even in the afterlife, Tina was his rock. She was his everything.

Inches away from her face, he brought himself to a stop. His arm dropped. Santana wore a shocked mask, as did everyone else on the camp. Frustrated not only with himself, but the people around him, Mike stormed off into the jungle.

There was a brief moment of silence as the rest of the group processed what had just happened. Their unofficial leader was on the verge of a mental breakdown.

Blaine was the first to speak. He'd been sitting in the sand, silently watching the entire ordeal go down as he nibbled on a remaining piece of meat. For some reason, he took the entire event personally. He stood quickly, enraged.

"This is horse shit!" He snapped, throwing the piece of meat on the ground.

He stormed off in the opposite direction Mike went.

"It's actually boar meat," Puck muttered, mostly to himself.

"Hey! You just tossed out a perfectly good piece of food!" Finn yelled after Blaine.

Kurt was hot on Blaine's heels, shouting a remark back at his step-brother.

"Oh, just lay off, will you?"

Blaine was already a good way down the beach, but Kurt managed to catch up to him. He grabbed him by the arm to slow him.

"Blaine, wait," He panted. "What is wrong with you?"

"I'm just tired of this, Kurt," Blaine sighed, turning to face his boyfriend.

"Me too. That doesn't mean I'm going to freak out."

"Maybe you just handle things better than I do. Maybe you're just stronger than I am."

Kurt gingerly touched Blaine's face, "That is not true. Blaine, you are one of the most kind hearted and sweetest people I've ever met."

"But not strongest," Blaine ticked. "You may be able to do this, but I can't. I can't."

"Just a few more days," Kurt begged. "Please, Blaine. I know someone will find us soon. They're looking. I just _feel_ it."

Blaine let out a long sigh. The exhaustion seeped through his voice, soaking up the air around them. He was so incredibly tired. His bones were sore. His mind was sore. He was just sore. And it broke Kurt's heart to see the love of his life in such pain.

"I can't do this without you," Kurt said softly.

Blaine kissed Kurt. It was a silent agreement that he would try his best to keep going.

Back at the camp, everyone was still in shock over what had just happened. They were worn and tired, too. If help did not come soon, they were all going to lose it.

Rachel approached Finn with a frown. She walked into his open arms, taking comfort in his grip.

"They're not coming," She cried. "They're not coming. We're all going to die here hating each other."

"That isn't true," Finn consoled.

Rachel lifted her head back, "You know I'm right."

Of course the thought was in his head, but he didn't want to let Rachel know that. An idea sparked in his mind. If he could only keep her morale up for a while longer, everything would be fine.

"What?" Rachel asked, noticing the smile in her boyfriend's eyes.

"Wait here a second," He said.

He left her, jogging back one of the huts. He'd found something of Rachel's in the plane before they set it up in flames. It was a silk blouse he'd bought her for their anniversary. She loved the shirt.

As he was walking back to Rachel, the wind began to blow. It took him off guard. He didn't have a tight grip on the shirt, and the aggressive wind stole it from his grasp. Rachel's happiness was flying away from him, and he wasn't going to let that happen.

He chased after the garment that danced in their air.

Finn was so busy focusing on grabbing the blouse that he didn't notice the misplaced piece of shrapnel hidden in the sand. He didn't notice the discarded log. And he defiantly didn't notice they were both in his way.

He tripped on the log and went soaring through the air. He landed, impaled on the jagged piece of rock. His head instantly fogged as he looked down at the grey piece of plane sticking out of his stomach. It was soaked in blood- his blood.

Rachel was screaming in the background. He was in so much pain, he almost didn't hear her.

When Rachel reached his body, he was gone.


End file.
